June 2019 Writing Challenge: Dead Like Me
by Veritas Found
Summary: Two ficlets written for a writing challenge, in which George and Kiffany grieve Rube's loss and George and Mason get sentimental while waiting for a death at a wedding.
1. 11 June 2019

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Note:** These were written in a notebook as a writing challenge for June 2019. The goal was thirty days, thirty prompts, thirty minutes (which is why some might seem abrupt: time limit). I'd hit a bit of a dry patch and just wanted to write. These are unedited and mostly just fluff pieces, but I really enjoyed some of them and hey: what's the point of fic if you don't share, right? Even if it's goofball trash.

**11 June 2019**

_**Prompt: **__Collect_

_**Fandom: **__Dead Like Me_

_**Character/Pairing:**__ George Lass; Rube Sofer & George Lass_

_**Rating:**__ M / PG-16 / Teen_

_**Notes:**__ Post-movie. Softcore character death in that it deals with Rube being gone, so angsty/minor TBW. I think three "fucks" is two too many for a PG-13 rating, so yup._

It's the little moments that get you, in the end. The ones that no one warns you about, that (you would think) she'd be numb to by now, after so many years as a reaper. Little moments that tend to collect on the periphery, where you can safely ignore them until one day it's all just too much and, with a crashing wave, you drown.

She never drowned. She incinerated. He did, too, in the end. That's just fucking poetic.

Little, bitter moments, like how Cameron showed up to replace him but no one thought to check for a replacement soul. Because that was the deal, right? You reap your last soul, you move on, and that soul replaces you in the group. Betty had been a fluke, so of course her replacement was another reaper. But Rube? He'd gone the usual way, she supposed, so there _had_ to be a new reaper. Not…Cameron. Asshole. And none of them had expected the new reaper to become Head Reaper, but they still should've been there. They'd still expected someone _new_(ly dead).

So a little moment, a week after Cameron's gone, and Penny shows up with Kiffany, of all people. She never even grieved her own death – not really – so it surprises her when she breaks open a bottle of whiskey and they pretend to get drunk and don't really pretend to mourn him.

Little moments like taking Kiffany to his old apartment and not really being surprised when neither go in. She can't stay there, knowing it was _his_, Kiffany says. So she goes in, grabs his old planner, and says Kiffany can crash on her couch until she's settled.

It's even in the bacon. IHOP isn't Der Waffle Haus, the new waitress isn't Kiffany, and the new line cook doesn't know how he liked his bacon, so he doesn't burn it even when she asks. The first time he does is an accident, and she can't eat it anyway. Anyway.

Yellow hurts, so after a week she switches to pink. She almost gets purple, just to fuck with Mason, but she's not that mean. Pink doesn't feel right, ether, and they spend a month going through every post-it color available at the local office supply stores before she settles back on yellow. It hurts, but she's finding it's a good hurt. A way to keep him in a world where he can no longer be found.

Days pass, then weeks, then months, and soon a year. The moments come less frequently even as they get more painful with every occurrence. Der Waffle Haus is rebuilt a year to the day, and Kiffany's there on the breakfast shift the day they open. Her nametag says Jerry, and everything's the same in all the wrong ways. In every way that it shouldn't be. She sits in their booth, Kiffany ("Jerry") takes her order, and it hurts when the door opens and he doesn't walk through.

This is grief, she thinks. Life after death. Little, bitter moments for her to collect, hoping it gets better but it never fucking does.


	2. 25 June 2019

**25 June 2019**

_**Prompt: **__Come Together_

_**Fandom: **__Dead Like Me_

_**Character/Pairing:**__ George Lass/Ken Mason_

_**Rating:**__ M / PG-16 / Teen_

_**Notes:**__ Angsty, but it's like G/M snarkiness with a sprinkling of ouch. My favorite HC for these two is that neither act on or realize any Feelings until it's Too Late, but I'm a sadistic bastard like that._

"Dearly beloved, we come together today to celebrate…"

George adjusted her shades as the minister droned on. She had already popped her soul during the mingling leading up to the big event – now she was just waiting for the Big Event. Mason stood beside her, loudly crunching on some peanuts. She was glad for his company. Reaps like this…there was something Fucked Up about a death at a wedding.

Especially when the reaped was the groom.

"So how do you think it's gonna happen? Surprise health scare? Jealous ex? Freak accident?" Mason prodded, poking her side. She scrunched her nose.

"I mean…he's eighty," she said. "It's a vow renewal. It's not like anyone would be really surprised if he has a heart attack."

(His death would still be tragic, though.)

"Still sad, though," Mason said, echoing her thoughts. He popped another peanut into his mouth. "S'pposed to be the happiest day of your life."

"Sixty years ago, I'm sure it was," she said dryly. He didn't have to know she actually felt bad for J. Borovitz, E.T.D. five minutes and counting, or that she thought the couple and ceremony were actually kind of cute. He'd give her so much shit for that.

"You ever regret it?" he asked. His voice sounded far too casual for the shock his question gave her. Both eyebrows soared as she looked at him. He nodded towards Jeffrey and Geraldine. "Y'know. Not getting married."

"I was eighteen," she scoffed. "Marriage was the last thing I was worried about."

"You're not eighteen anymore," he pointed out. She looked down, away from the happy couple.

"I'll always be eighteen," she said. It wasn't said to make him feel bad, though she could tell by his sudden silence that it did. It was just cold, hard, reaper truth. The facts of death.

"S'ppose you should just be glad you died legal," he snorted after a moment. "You could have been a kid and stuck reaping cute little puppies all your afterlife."

"Doesn't sound so bad," she said, grinning a little. "I like dogs."

"Yeah, but then you wouldn't know me," he said, cheekily adding, "and I have it on fairly good authority you _like_ me."

She snorted and shoved at him, making him giggle. She was glad they were far enough away from the little park ceremony that none of the guests could shoot them dirty looks.

"Shut the fuck up, Mason," she laughed. He sobered up and pinned her with a rare, serious look.

"I regret it, you know," he said softly. She frowned.

"You were a junkie," she said. "_Are_ a junkie. How do you have time to regret not getting married?"

"It's more I regret _who_ I didn't marry," he said. "Death leaves you with a lot of time to think about such things, Georgie-girl, and yeah, I regret not getting married."

She didn't know where he was going with this. She didn't like the way he grabbed her hand.

"I regret not telling you," he said. She frowned in confusion. "And I think you regret not telling me."

"Mason, what the fuck –?"

He cut her question off with a kiss.

It felt all wrong.

"Regret not doing that before, too," he said with a miserable little smile. "George, I –"

Whatever he was going to say was lost in the screams as a transformer sparked and electricity shot through J. Borovitz right in the middle of his vows, and in the blinding light Mason disappeared and George woke up glaring blearily at the ceiling of her bedroom.

Jeffrey Borovitz hadn't been her reap. He'd been Mason's last.

And she was fucking sick of having nightmares about it.


End file.
